


Bleeding

by Anonymous



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Abstergo is an evil gang of dipshits, Abstergo make a Comanche Assassin game dammit you, Bleeding Effect, Blood and Gore, Comanche character, Gen, Idefk how to tag, If I am wrong throw a thing at me but not too heavy the goal is to be educational not crippling, Native American Character(s), Polyamorous Character, Psychological Horror, Scalping, The Animus is an evil hunk of scrap, Very obscure humor, arguably expoiting history but AC does that, author is on her meds and still only thinks in sideways loops and oblique tangents, if you don't like this please leave and I am sorry, written by someone with approximately half an idea about stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: An ordinary man gets thrown into the animus. Nothing good comes of it unless you count the ability to kill very well.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2
Collections: Anonymous





	Bleeding

They told him his ancestor was a savage killer, but Alex knows otherwise. If he had met the man, let alone walked in his body, heard in his ears, seen with his eyes, he would deem him a good man, though disturbingly violent. He has seen how sweet he was to his girls - because apparently, the man was married to two women, both now immortal in Alexander's wet dreams - how kind he was to the village children, how he broke his stoic demeanour and doubled with laughter upon misunderstanding the Assassin Brotherhood as "marriage of killers", how he tried to teach Haytham Kenway the second, ex-Northern spy and Templar-turned-Assassin, the intricacies of his language to woo the woman he loved. He did not believe, once, when his mother told him his ancestors were watching over him, but now he does, and he is glad to have such a protector, in a building full of hostile people who want information he will not divulge. He enjoys, knowing his life may soon depend upon them, the muscle memory of the dead assassin's skill, the crack of bone or the slide of a knife through flesh or the impact of a punch or the way his feet fell when he walked, silent. But there is one thing, one thing he finds himself disturbed and satisfied by and disturbed by his own satisfaction. Scalps. Alex had known, and cooly accepted, that his people once took scalps as trophies from their enemies - but somehow, knowing is nowhere near the same as living it. He dreams at night, and almost-feels during day, the soft hair and hard knife-handle in his fists, the resistance of skin cut and the struggle, and the screams, and the metallic scent and red smear of blood. And worse than that, there's always a quietly vindictive satisfaction to go will it, a sense of triumph that the sense memory only scratches the surface of, yet is inextricably tied to. His ancestor -and by extension Alex, as horrified as he finds himself - is happy to do that, because he was raised with it and because it's the thing he does to celebrate victory. But oh wait, it gets better. Great-great-times-whatever-gramps actually sewed them into his clothing to show off his abilities and status. But honestly, at this point point Alex's capacity for emotions has gone on a long deserved holiday until further notice.


End file.
